Lord of the Horde
by Demonwolf
Summary: Blackmoore the human found an orc baby and raised it as a slave. Thrall the orc finds a human baby and raises it as his son.
1. Chapter 1

**Ch. 1: Death and Discovery**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing in WOW except my own characters. Everything and everyone else belongs to Blizzard._

Alyson gritted her teeth as her rag-wrapped feet came into contact with a sharp stone. The rocky roads of Durtor were far different from the meadows surrounding Lodamere Lake back in Alterac. Still, the homeland of the orcs was hopefully the last place Lord Kelton would look for her.

Alyson glanced down at the bundle of blankets in her arms. Her four-month-old baby boy was sleeping peacefully, totally unaware of the danger they were both in. Already, soft black hair was sprouting over the baby's scalp. Hair he had inherited from his father.

Alyson still found it ironic that for some one who preached strong family values, Lord Kelton still enjoyed to have dirty little secrets and was yet unwilling to take responsibility for them.

Ahead of her, the great city of Orgrimmar loomed. Alyson hoped to make it there before nightfall. Despite the tales of the Second War, the Warchief Thrall was supposed to be extremely generous when it came to hose in need. Surely the orc could find it in his heart to aid a single mother and her child until she could find somewhere far away from Lord Kelton's reach.

"Going somewhere?" Alyson gasped as three figures stepped out from the shadows They were humans, but their stealthy movement was more fitting to ghosts than living creatures. Alyson knew at once that these rogues had to be members of the Syndicate. Which meant…

"Please. Can't you see that I'm not a threat to Lord Kelton now?"

"Oh, be that as it may, we've already accepted payment, so…"

Alyson screamed as a dagger was thrust into and then yanked from her back. She fell forward, cushioning her baby who began to cry from fear.

"Please…. Take him," Alyson rasped. The dagger had been coated with poison and it was doing its work well.

"Sorry. Not part of the deal. Don't worry; you'll be dead long before the animals come running; you won't have to watch the kid die." The rogues quickly fled the scene, leaving behind a slain mother and a crying baby in their wake.

* * *

"I can see Orgrimmar! We're almost home!" Thrall straightened up a bit more as Night Stalker, his black wolf mount put on an extra burst of speed, eager as his master to be home. Two other scouts ran alongside the Warchief and Thrall's white wolf companion Snowsong easily matched Night Stalker's fast pace.

"Will the draenei soon be our allies, Sire?" Goren, a young scout asked.

"I don't know. However, it's time we took the first steps toward healing old wounds," Thrall replied. "While we can't change what our fathers did, we can promise not to allow ourselves to be swayed with promises of power again."

"Aye. An' Velen would probably say the same, Lord," Etrigg grunted from Thrall's right.

"Let's hope for the best. We can-" Thrall's words were cut off as his senses became alert to a change. He halted Night Stalker and his companions did the same with their mounts. Snowsong growled, her ears tilted forward.

"What is it, Lord?" Goren looked alarmed, but ready for battle. Thrall closed his eyes and concentrated.

_Spirits of Durotar, what troubles you?_ Thrall's blue eyes widened as the answer came to him.

"Murder has been done nearby! Hurry!"

The three orcs sped off in the direction of the wind, which seemed to be leading them. And although all three had seen their share of death, what they found shocked each orc to the core.

The body of a young, brown-haired woman was lying face-first in the red dusty road. Her blue eyes were wide and staring, her arms cradling a small, crying bundle. Her back was a large patch of blood. Etrigg bent down and sniffed the wound.

"Poison. It's rogues' work," the old orc grunted. Meanwhile, Snowsong was sniffing the bundle, which was now wriggling in the dead woman's arms.

Time seemed to slow for Thrall as he approached the body and examined the bundled infant. Gently scooping the baby up, Thrall took in the tiny frame, the soft fuzz of black hair, and the blue eyes that widened as tears continued to flow.

"Come now. It's okay, little one. You will not be harmed," Thrall murmured to the baby. To the orc's surprise, the babe stopped crying and looked up at him, still sniffling a bit. Beside him, Goren gulped.

"Sire, I've seen battle and all, but…this woman… she was... a mother. It just seems…"

"I know, Goren," Thrall said, placing a mailed hand on the young scout's shoulder. "And you are not wrong to feel this way. To kill a helpless woman in such a manner…" Thrall shook his head and sighed. Then, cradling the baby in the crook of one arm, he called out with his mind.

_Spirit of the Earth. Will you help me? _Immediately, the Earth seemed to open up around the young woman, swallowing her body. At the same time, a rock pushed its way up to the surface where the woman's head had been.

_Spirit of Fire, will you aid me? _A flame leapt into Thrall's hand and he let it roam over the rock, etching the words as it did in both Orchish and Common dialect.

_An Unknown Woman Lies Here, Cruelly Slain by Unknown Assailents_

_May Her Soul Find Peace, Knowing Her Son as Saved_

Still carrying the baby, Thrall mounted Nightstalker.

"Come, we need to get back to Orgrimmar."

"What about him, Lord?" Etrigg gestured at the now-sleeping baby boy.

"Right now, he'll need nourishment, which we can give him one way or another. We'll go from there." The small party set off again, leaving the grave of a slain mother behind and carrying a new life and a new hope with them.


	2. Warchief's Decision

Ch 2: Warchief's Decision

Jaina Proudmoore hurried through the winding trails of Orgrimmar. She had received Thrall's summons and had portaled herself to the orcs' capital city as fast as she could. She only hoped that whatever the problem was, it wouldn't shatter the barely-existing peace between the Horde and Alliance.

"Ah, da Lady Proudmoore." Jaina gave a little start as Vol'jin stepped forward from the hallway leading to Thrall's private chambers.

"I came as quickly as I could, Vol'jin. Please tell me it's not as bad as I think."

"Oh, dat it's not, but you're in for a shock, ma Lady."

Jaina followed the troll leader into Thrall's room. She didn't know what to expect. Was the newly-restored King Varian here and making threats? Were the Forsaken planning something horrible for the Alliance? Was it- Light forbid- Arthas?

Whatever Jaina had considered, she had _not_ expected to see Thrall, still garbed in his black plate mail, cradling a human baby and feeding it from a small tin bottle.

"Thrall?" The Warchief's head shot up.

"Jaina!" Thrall looked both relieved and pleased. The baby continued to suck at the bottle, his blue eyes half-closed.

"Da babe got a healt'y appetite, yah?" A troll witchdoctor stepped forward, grinning around his tusks. "Warchrief brought him in a few hours ago. T'ank da spirits us trolls know how at nurse our young when da mother not around, yah?" The witchdoctor nodded at the bottle.

"Thank goodness indeed," Jaina muttered, moving closer to Thrall and looking down at the wrapped baby. "Where in the world did you find him?"

"His mother was slain not too far away from Orgrimmar. I'm not sure who did the deed; only that it was rogues' work. We have no clue as to the identity of his mother, his father, or where he comes from."

"Poor child." Jaina stroked the boy's fuzzy head and then looked back up at Thrall. One look told her that Thrall had seen himself in the tiny baby boy. "What should we do?" Thrall took a deep breath.

"This child is, for all we know, an orphan. His mother is dead and he will probably never know the human who sired him. So… I will be his father."

"What?"

"Mah Warchief?"

"I know that both of you have heard an account of my life, particularly my early years. Aedelas Blackmoore found me as I have found this child. But I will not let him live a life as a slave. No, I will raise him as my own."

"Be yah sure, Mah Warchief?" Vol'jin asked, cocking his head.

"I'm sure, Vol'jin. He needs a family and I can give that to him." Thrall gazed down at the small boy, who was now asleep in his arms.

'He also needs a name," Jaina said softly, stepping up behind Thrall. "Do you have one in mind?""As a mater of fact, I do." Thrall smiled and placed a black-nailed finger on his new son's head and spoke softly to him

"I was the slave of Aedelas Blackmoore from the time I was about your age until I was an adult. During that time, only one human was kind to me. Taretha Foxton's friendship is something I hold dear even to this day. I was a brother to her, but not her only brother. Her blood brother died when he was an infant, something I can only imagine saddened her family greatly. So, in honor of that child and in honor of Taretha, I name you Faralyn."

"Faralyn," Jaina repeated, a soft smile playing about her lips. "It's… really a good name, Thrall."

"I be agreein' wit yah, T'rall. Faralyn be a good name and he be welcome here."

"Thank you, Vol'jin, Jaina. For all your support." No further words were spoken; all three leaders merely watched as a small baby boy lay sleeping in an orc's arms, totally content.


	3. Five Years Time

Ch. 3: Five Years Time

Faralyn eyed the training dummy fearlessly. Grasping the toy sword and widening his stance as he'd seen the orc warriors do, the five-year-old sized up his enemy. Was it a member of the Twilight Hammer? Nah, too tame. A foul demon of the Burning Legion? No, he'd killed one last week. Aha, it was Arthas the evil Lich King who resided in Northrend and commanded the Scourge.

"I've come for you, Arthas," Faralyn snarled, his clear little voice not as menacing as he would have liked. "You are an evil monster, you're hurt lots of people and you made Jaina sad! Now die!"

The little boy flung himself at the straw dummy, striking it hard with the wooden sword. Unfortunately, the dummy was built to take a blow before bending forward and while a young orc would not have been bothered, five-year-old Faralyn was no match. With a startled yelp, the boy was flung head over heels backward, landing on his back at the feet of an orc clad in black plate mail.

Faralyn glanced up, his blue yes meeting the equally blue eyes of Thrall who did not look pleased. Faralyn rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to his knees, suddenly fearful.

"Morning, Father," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Faralyn," Thrall growled, kneeling down in front of the boy. The huge orc eyed the boy and asked,

"Have you had your breakfast yet?"

"Uhhh…" Faralyn's answer was a sudden growl from his stomach. Thrall's face immediately broke out into a smile and he gave a deep chuckle.

"That's what I thought." Thrall swept Faralyn into his arms and smiled at him. "Come on then. I haven't eaten either and you sound hungry enough for the both of us."

Faralyn giggled as Thrall carried his adopted son into their private chambers.

"Sorry, Father. I guess I forgot about breakfast."

"Well, you've put Arthas on the run, so now you can eat with honor." Faralyn blushed a bit; he had hoped no one would see him pretending to fight the Lich King.

"It's a good thing you're here and not in Northrend, my son," Thrall continued. "Arthas would've given up merely by hearing your war cry."

"Really?" Faralyn looked amazed as Thrall set him down on his chair and set a plate of food in front of him.

"Oh yes." Thrall took his own place across from Faralyn. "I imagine that right about now, the Lich King is already considering surrendering rather than waiting until you're old enough to fight."

Faralyn swallowed a bit of mutton before asking,

"You're not mad that I was using the training dummy?"

"Why would I be mad?" Thrall asked.

"Well, I know I'm not supposed to start officially training 'till I'm six, but I was just playing."

"Faralyn." Thrall's tone was reassuring. "It's true that we don't start official warrior training until the age of six, but there's nothing wrong with you practicing now. And when you do begin your training, it'll be just like your reading and writing lessons: very relaxed and only an hour or so every day. Childhood lasts only a short time; we want our young to make the most of it."

Faralyn breathed a sigh, obviously relieved and began eating in earnest. Thrall watched the boy fondly. It was hard to believe that in five short years, the tiny human babe had become a sturdy little child with an extremely sweet personality. Thrall himself felt nothing but a father's love for his adopted son and now couldn't imagine life with him. And while some members of the Horde still grumbled about the War chief's "son," none of them dared to speak such thoughts aloud. As it was, the angry ones were a minority; most orc, and even trolls and tauren were charmed by the little boy and believed thought much of Thrall for raising him. Cairne Bloodhoof had even said that Faralyn was an example of what humanity could become if they were raised correctly, although Faralyn wasn't quite sure what that meant. Still, the little boy was happy in Orgrimmar and while he knew he was a human, in his mind, he was Thrall's son and loved the Warchief as such.

As the two finished their meal, there came a knock at the door.

"Enter, please," Thrall called and Vol'jin entered.

"Mah Warchief," the troll leader said with a slight bow. "An' good morning, young Faralyn." Vol'jin gave the boy as wide a smile as he could manage around his tusks and Faralyn returned it. Vol'jin was the equivalent of an uncle in the boy's eyes and the two were great friends.

"Ahh, good morning, Vol'jin." Thrall stood up. "I believe we are wanted in the Valley of Trials in a few hours?"

"Dat be so. A few young scouts t'ink dey found a cave where Burning Blade cultists be hidin'."

"Good. If we can eradicate more followers of the late Gul'dan, we'll be taking another step into making our land a safer place."

Thrall and Vol'jin quickly departed for the corral where their mounts were kept and cared for, Faralyn trotting along at his father's heels. Outside the corral, Sonowsong waited; she licked Thrall's hand and then proceeded to nuzzle Faralyn's cheek as the Warchief readied Night Stalker and Vol'jin prepared his green raptor Zen'ju. Thrall paused before mounting Night Stalker and glanced down at Faralyn.

"We shouldn't be gone too long, my son. Hopefully, we'll be back in the early afternoon. As luck would have it, Jaina should be arriving then as well."

"Jaina's coming?" Faralyn asked, delighted.

"She is and I believe she'll look forward to seeing you." Jaina was the only human as well as the only female Faralyn was close to. "If she arrives and I'm not back, you may entertain her in my stead." Thrall watched his son's eyes shine at the prospect of being a host. He ruffled Faralyn's ragged mop of black hair with one massive hand. "Until she arrives, go and have fun!"

Faralyn watched as his father and Vol'jin rode away from Orgrimmar. He waved at them until they were gone and the headed back inside to finish off Arthas.


	4. Kindness and Cruelty

**Ch. 4: Kindness and Cruelty**

_Yes, I support the Thrall/Jaina romance, but for those of you who don't or who just aren't fans of romance in general, there will be very little of it in this story._

"And… GOTCHA!" Faralyn slammed the toy sword into "Arthas's head from behind. This time, the dummy flopped forward and stayed down.

"Yea, yea! I beatcha! Hahaha, take that, Lich King!"

"Good shot, Faralyn." The five-year-old whirled around to see none other than Jaina Proudmoore with her staff in hand; she had obviously just teleported in from Theramore.

"Hi, Jaina!" Faralyn ran to her and threw his tiny arms around the mage's legs.

"My goodness, you've gotten so big, Faralyn. I swear you've grown a foot in about a month!" Jaina tickled Faralyn's ears, making him laugh. "Is Thrall here?"

"Father said he'll be back soon. He an' Vol'jin went to the Valley of Trials."

"Ah, right." Faralyn took her hand.

"Father said I should entertain you 'till he gets back. What do you wanna do first?"

"Would you mind escorting me to the conference room, then? I need to go over my reports from the Kirin Tor."

"Okay. Right this way!"

Jaina allowed Faralyn to clasp her hand as the small boy led her through the winding streets of Orgrimmar. Clearly, Faralyn had made up his mind to do his job well and Jaina wanted to encourage that.

"It's so nice to get an escort; my staff won't walk me around like this."

"They don't?" Faralyn sounded shocked.

"Only if I ask them to. They don't offer to escort me anywhere."

"Then they're mean." Faralyn paused, then looked up at the mage. "Can I ask you something, Jaina?"

"Of course. What would you like to know?"

"Do you… like Father?"

Jaina paused, a little dumbfounded. She was not oblivious to the rumors that had cropped up after she and Thrall had made peace, particularly the one where she was the orc Warchief's lover, but she hadn't expected Faralyn to pick up on them at the age of five.

"Well… I do think he's a great leader and a very kind person, so, yes, I do consider him a friend."

"But do you _like_ him?"

"Um… why do you ask, Faralyn?" Jaina was totally blown away by Faralyn's answer.

"If you married Father, you'd be my mother."

"Oh, Faralyn." Jaina knelt and drew Faralyn close to her. "I… I don't think that will happen in the future. But even if it doesn't, you can think of me as a mother or even a big sister if you want to. After all, family isn't all about blood or who lives with you. You know that, right?"

"Hmmm… I guess. Ye-yeah!" Faralyn grinned at Jaina, his blue eyes shining. Jaina waved her hand, summoning a cookie studded with pieces of candy.

"I knew you did. Go have fun, Faralyn! I'll see you later."

"Bye, Jaina!" Grasping his treat, the little boy ran off to seek his next challenger.

* * *

Faralyn had just come to the entrance of the drag when he heard his name and Jaina's mentioned. Curious, the little boy headed for the source of the sound, stuffing the last of his treat in his mouth as he did.

"Yeah, saw 'em, walkin' by a little while ago. Why?" Faralyn paused outside of a small reagents shop, where orc warlocks came to buy ingredients for their various spells.

"Humph. Glad they didn't come down here. The sight of humans makes my skin crawl, filthy pink blobs that they are."

"Guess I know where _stand_ on the Warchief's peace with the Lady Proudmoore." Faralyn could see the warlock's shadow bend and inspect the merchant's wares.

"Not just her. I mean the little scrap he calls a son too."

"What? Faralyn?"

"Yes. Faralyn. Warchief should've buried the brat along with the mother."

"Why? He's not _that _bad." Outside, Faralyn took a step backwards as the merchant's tirade continued.

"Not that bad? He's a damned human! Humans have been our enemies since we came to Azeroth and given the chance, they'd happily see us exterminated! Faralyn may be a whelp now, but mark my words. When he grows up, he'll turn traitor. Best thing would be to put him down now." The orc snorted. "The Warchief has no business calling that boy a son. He'll never be an orc and he'll never have what it takes to be honored as an orc!"

Perhaps the merchant said more, but Faralyn didn't hear him. Covering his streaming eyes with the crook of an arm, the little boy fled as fast as he could, not caring where he was going. All he wanted was to get away from the words that seemed to burn his heart and soul with shame, but the words followed him no matter how fast he ran.


End file.
